A bride and a groom stared out at us from an old black and white photo. Neither one looked very happy. I saw now where the Skeritt brow had come from. The groom’s eyes were invisible under the heavy thatch of his brows. Even the bride’s brow was unusually low. Maybe that’s what had attracted them in the first place.
“Wow, totally cool,” Eric breathed. “Who are these guys?”
“Your great-grandparents,” Dru answered. “On their wedding day.”
“How come they look so totally unhappy?” he asked.
“Not unhappy,” Dru corrected him as she turned the page. “They were just, well… just serious.”
“Oh, come on,” Gail snorted.
The next picture was of a small child seated in a formal pose with hands folded, staring at the camera gravely. He, or she, didn’t look very happy either.
“So, who’s this one?” Eric asked eagerly.
“Your great-uncle Trent,” Dru told him.
“Oh, Dad!” Lori squealed, pushing in closer. “You look so cute! I never knew you were a cute baby.”
Ingrid smiled softly at her husband.
“Turn the page,” Trent ordered gruffly.
There was another small child on the next page, looking remarkably similar except that this one was smiling.
“Mom?” asked Wayne softly.
“Yes, honey,” Dru whispered. “That’s your mama.”
I looked closer. The child’s smile was sweet and dreamy. Hopeful. I had never seen an expression like that on Vesta’s adult face. My heart contracted suddenly. How had Vesta come to lose that sweetness?
Dru turned the page again and Ace grinned up at us. Another turn and Camille looked out with a dazed expression on her little face. Another and Nola was in her place, looking quizzical. And then, the baby of the family, Dru, beamed at us.
“A real looker, even then,” Ace teased her.
Dru giggled and flipped to the next page, a group shot of all the children. Trent was the tallest, looking thin, teenaged and aloof in the background. Vesta was maybe a foot shorter than Trent, and Ace another foot shorter than she was. Little Camille and Nola were holding hands. And Dru was sitting on the ground with her doll.
“So those are my great-aunts, Nola and Camille, right?” Eric said, pointing at the girls holding hands. He didn’t wait for a confirmation. “So how come they didn’t come to the reunion?” he demanded.
“Camille is a drama teacher at a college on the east coast,” Dru answered. “She couldn’t get the time off.”
“Oh,” Eric said. “How about Aunt Nola?”
“She has, well… a little health problem,” Dru answered slowly.
“What kind of health problem?” Eric pressed.
“Never mind—” Trent began.
“She’s an alcoholic,” Gail cut in brusquely. “She’s in treatment.”
Dru turned the pages more quickly after that. As the family shots went by, I heard Mandy whisper, “hideous clothes,” and Eric whisper back something that sounded like, “a total dweeb parade.” Then there were the inevitable graduation photos, and finally, a picture of another bride and groom.
“Me and Raoul,” Dru whispered, then sighed tragically.
Gail flipped the page impatiently, then heaved her own not so tragic sigh at a baby picture of herself. The pages moved faster after that. We saw Gail grow up from a sullen toddler to a sullen adult, and then the album was closed.
As everyone returned to their seats, I excused myself to go to the rest room.
I was in one of the stalls, struggling through that long refastening process peculiar to jumpsuits when I heard the bathroom door swing open.
I hooked the side piece and the front piece and began buttoning the front. Funny, I thought. Whoever came in hadn’t gone to a stall. I snapped the neck. I couldn’t hear them washing up either. In fact, I couldn’t hear any movement at all as I pulled the belt around my waist and buckled it.
I stood there in the cubicle, perfectly still for a moment… and couldn’t hear a damn thing. I could feel my heart thumping in my chest, though. Maybe I just thought I heard someone come in, I told myself.
I took a deep breath and pressed my eye up to the crack of the stall door. I saw a woman standing a few feet away with her back to me, a heavyset woman in a pair of twill pants and a man’s dress shirt. Gail Norton.
- Fourteen -
“I know you’re in there,” Gail said softly. The hair went up on the back of my neck. I pressed my eye closer to the crack in the stall and watched her turn slowly around, her plain face expressionless except for the intensity of her gaze behind her glasses.
I kept silent in spite of her words. Or maybe, because of them.
“Are you afraid of me?” she asked, her voice neutral.
Damn right, I thought. You’re a mighty strange woman.
“Do you think I’m the murderer?” she prodded.
The instant she named my fear, I began to feel foolish. Even if she was the murderer, what was she going to do? Poison me by force in the ladies’ room?
“Just a moment,” I called out. I flushed the toilet a second time, hoping she would interpret my earlier silence as mere lavatory modesty.
I took one last peek out the crack, then grabbed my purse, centered myself as best I could, and opened the stall door.
“What’s up?” I asked in what I hoped was a cheerful tone.
The tone was wasted on Gail. She stared at me morosely as I washed my hands.
“It’s this family,” she said finally.
“This family,” I repeated without inflection. I didn’t need a degree to play the therapist game.
She sighed. ‘They’re all so screwed up,” she told me.
I nodded solemnly as I reached for a paper towel.
“Aunt Nola’s an alcoholic,” Gail said, her voice a drone. “Do you know, I was in my twenties before I’d even heard about her.” She sighed again. “Nobody ever talked about Aunt Vesta while she was institutionalized. They’re all in complete denial.”
“Complete denial,” I repeated.
“None of them will cop to the truth,” she went on. There was still no feeling in her voice. “None of them. Ace clowns around. I asked him once why he throws himself on the ground like that. Do you know what he said?”
I shook my head.
“He said, ‘Didn’t you see the other guy?’“
“Interesting,” I commented, turning my face as I threw away the paper towel so she wouldn’t see my smile.
“Uncle Trent is a control freak. And he intellectualizes everything he can’t control, including the fact that he has a bliss-ninny for a daughter and a surfer dude for a son.”
“A surfer dude?” I repeated, really curious this time.
“Yeah, Larry’s in his thirties now,” Gail told me. “Never went to school. Never had a regular job. He was in Australia, the last time I heard. His life’s goal is to surf on every coast in the world.”
“Hmm,” I said, wondering if Larry was motivated by an unconscious desire to thwart his father. Playing therapist was beginning to do something to my mind.
“And Mom just denies and represses. And smiles. Little Miss Sunshine.” Gail heaved a final sigh and slipped back into silence.
“What was your childhood like?” I asked softly.
“My father committed suicide when I was three,” she answered. Then she grinned. It was not a happy grin. “How was your childhood?” she asked in turn.
I pushed the bathroom door open, deciding I didn’t want a career in psychotherapy after all.
“After you,” I said politely.
Wayne was quiet on the way home through the city. He had insisted on driving again. I didn’t argue with him. I had come to realize that he needed to act now, even if the action was as trivial as driving. Or as significant as investigating his mother’s murder, for that matter. I was too full to drive, anyway. I wasn’t even sure I could have stretched my arms over my stomach to the wheel.
We were on the Golden Gate Bridge when he finally spoke.
“Who do you think it is?” he asked.
“What?” I said, startled. I had been lost in the view of the lights across the water. The outline of the Bay Bridge looked like a jeweled circus tent at this distance.
“Who did it, Kate?” Wayne murmured. “Who’s the murderer?”
“I… I don’t know,” I answered unhappily.
“Okay,” he said. I could hear a volume of disappointment in the one word.
“But we can talk about it,” I followed up quickly. “We can share ideas.”
“Okay,” he said again. The word sounded better this time.
“You first,” I prompted.
He was silent for a few minutes. I thought I had lost him again. But I hadn’t.
“There’s the family,” he said finally. “Can’t rule out anyone so far. Ace, Trent and Dru. Their spouses, their kids, their grandkids.”
“But we can limit it to the family members that were actually present, can’t we?” I suggested.
He nodded. “Then there’s Harmony. And Clara Kushiyama.”
“But why?” I asked.
Wayne didn’t answer. I expanded the concept in case he hadn’t caught it the first time.
“We have to figure out why anyone would want to kill Vesta,” I said. “Motive, that’s the question.” The real question, I thought, was why anyone wouldn’t want to kill Vesta. But I kept that bit of spleen to myself.
“Okay,” he agreed. “Why?”
“Harmony, for instance,” I went on. “Vesta teased her cruelly. And she’s…” I tried to think of a word that described Harmony’s combination of confusion, obsession, frantic fear and bruised innocence.
“Crazy,” Wayne finished for me. Well, at least he was succinct.
“How about Clara?” I tried.
“Not sure,” he responded in a voice as heavy as my overfed stomach. “Nearly the same age as Mom, though. Could have known each other before. It’s possible.”
“Uh-huh,” I murmured, but I didn’t really buy it. “I talked to Gail in the rest room tonight,” I told him. “She’s one helluva disturbed psychotherapist. Was she always so unhappy?”
“Don’t really know,” Wayne replied thoughtfully. “Didn’t see much of her growing up. She was a lot younger than me. I must have been thirteen or fourteen when she was born. Saw her a few times when Dru visited, but after Mom went to Shady Willows…” He shrugged his shoulders as his words trailed off. I guessed that Dru hadn’t visited much after Vesta was locked up.
“How about Dru’s first husband?” I asked quickly.
“I met Raoul once, maybe twice,” Wayne said. “He was polite, but… oh, distracted.”
“Distracted like he was thinking of killing himself?”
“Maybe.” Wayne shrugged again. “Didn’t seem like a very happy guy.”
“Remember how your mother accused Dru of murdering him?” I asked, sitting a little straighter in my seat. Had Vesta’s accusation been a serious one? Pieces of Friday night’s events flipped through my mind as I searched for Vesta’s exact words. But all I could remember was the general content of her tirade.
“You know Mom,” Wayne muttered.
I nodded. I did know. Vesta had referred to me as “the adulteress” for most of the time I had known her, despite my repeated assurances that I was divorced. Still, an accusation of murder—
“Bill’s the really strange one,” Wayne said, interrupting my thoughts. “Never understood why Aunt Dru married him. Alcoholic. Never talks. Doubt that he actually earns a living in real estate.” He paused for a moment as he eased the car toward the Mill Valley turnoff. “Guess I just don’t want it to be a blood relative,” he muttered a moment later.
I looked at him in the dim light of the car. Misery was all that I could see in the lines of his face.
“Who exactly don’t you want it to be?” I asked softly, pretty sure I knew the answer already.
“Uncle Ace,” he admitted. His voice got higher and louder as he went on. “He’s a great guy, Kate. Just hasn’t had a chance to show it this trip. He’s got two great kids, Eileen and Earl. Eileen’s a doctor. Earl is Eric’s father, works as an actor and a stuntman. And Ace… I can’t exactly explain.” Wayne sighed. “He’s just a great guy.”
I had a feeling I knew what Wayne was trying to tell me by talking about Ace’s children. He was telling me that Ace had been the closest thing to a father that he had ever known.
“Is there any particular reason why you’re worried about Uncle Ace?” I asked carefully. I felt like I was playing Twenty Questions… with dynamite.
“He’s not telling me something,” Wayne answered, his voice low. “I can tell by the way he’s acting. There’s something he wants to say and can’t.”
“Oh,” I said. I had a bad feeling in my chest, something beyond indigestion even. What if the murderer was the man who had worked so hard to keep Wayne’s childhood intact? I wriggled in my seat uncomfortably, telling myself it just couldn’t be. But still…
Neither of us said another word until Wayne pulled the Jaguar into the driveway and stopped.
“I keep hoping it’s not Uncle Ace,” he said softly. “Would I turn him in if it was?” He pulled the key from the ignition. “I don’t know the answer to that question.”
I put my hand on his thigh as he turned to stare through the windshield.
“You know what I used to wish for when I blew out the candles on my birthday cake?” he asked a few moments later.
“No, what?” I prompted, expecting more about Ace. But he surprised me.
“I wished for Mom to be happy,” he said. My heart contracted. What a thing for a little kid to wish for. “I carried a lucky penny too. Rubbed it every day, asking God to make her happy.” He shook his head slowly back and forth, never taking his eyes from the windshield. “And then I went to college and left her…”
And then she slit her wrists and ended up in Shady Willows for the next twenty-odd years, I finished for him silently. My cheeks began to burn. Suddenly, I felt angry with Vesta, very angry. Wasn’t it enough to have abused her son for eighteen years? Did she have to destroy him completely? I told myself to calm down. Vesta was dead. And Wayne hadn’t been completely destroyed. He was here now with me.
“It wasn’t your fault,” I told him, slowly and carefully. “You did the very best that anyone could have done.”
“Thank you,” he said solemnly and turned to kiss me on the forehead.
But I knew that he didn’t really believe me.
Monday morning, I did paperwork and listened as Wayne talked to someone at the funeral home about text, music and ministers. Finally, he hung up and turned to me.
“Have to go look at caskets—” he began.
The phone rang, interrupting him.
Wayne snatched up the receiver before the answering machine could kick in, his face tensing as he said “Hello.”
“Judy from Jest Gifts,” he told me, his face softening. “For you.” This was one of the benefits of having him home during the week. He was a great secretary.
“Kate,” Judy said breathlessly when I picked up the phone. ‘The pound wasn’t open yesterday—”
“The pound?” I repeated. This time I wasn’t playing therapist.
“Yeah, you know,” she told me. Then she lowered her voice to a very loud whisper. ‘To go pick up the ringer dog to fool Jerry, so he’ll take it away instead of Daisy or Poppy.”
“Oh… yeah,” I said unenthusiastically.
“So anyway, I thought I’d go today,” she went on. “Patty—you know Patty, my friend from softball—she said she saw a little dachshund that looked just like mine at a shelter in San Jose. So, is it okay if I take an extra long lunch? Jean said she’d watch the phones and—”
“It’s fine to take a long lunch,” I told her, “but maybe you ought to rethink this dog business. What if you get the dog and Jerry doe
sn’t take it? Then you’ll have three dogs—”
“Oh, I can handle that,” she assured me. Or at least, she tried to assure me. “It’s a great idea. I’m glad you came up with it—”
“But I didn’t come up with it—”
Wayne bent over me, depositing a soft kiss on the top of my head.
“See you later,” he whispered.
“Wait a minute,” I ordered. “Where are you going?”
“To the pound like I said,” Judy answered promptly.
“Funeral home,” Wayne said a beat later. “Over to the condo to check on Harmony first.”
“Wait for me,” I called out, only thinking cover the receiver after I’d finished.
“You wanna come with me?” Judy said. “Jeez, that’d be great, Kate. We could meet over here—”
“No, no,” I told her hastily. “I’m sure you’ll be fine by yourself. I’ll talk to you later, all right?”
“… go alone,” Wayne was saying as he headed out the front door.
I hung up and ran to catch him. There was no way I was going to let him face the caskets alone. Or Harmony.
We talked about Harmony on the way up the highway to the condo, trying to figure out what we could do for her. Halfway there, I was stunned by a single thought. Wayne was talking again. He wasn’t chattering by a long shot, but he was answering my questions and even asking his own.
“Are you okay?” he asked me now, looking at me with concern. My revelation must have shown on my face. I felt my mouth gaping open and closed it.
“I’m fine,” I told him. I smiled. “Wonderful, in fact.”
He frowned at me for a moment, then shrugged away his confusion and went on.
“Maybe if we talk to Harmony, she’ll be able to tell us who her family is,” he said. “Her friends.” He shook his head. “Can’t keep her in the condo forever.”
“Not at fifteen hundred a month, that’s for sure,” I agreed.
“Don’t think Mom would have wanted it this way,” he added quietly.
I resisted a groan. Wayne was the one paying the mortgage on the condo. Vesta had never paid a cent. As far as I was concerned, she didn’t deserve a vote, alive or dead. But I didn’t say any of that.
Tea-Totally Dead Page 14
